


How to Win the Game

by sohydrated



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Rutting, Scent Kink, fanfic of a fanfic, i am bad at dirty talk but i try, lambert is possessive and a bastard but we're all into it, no beta we die like men, this is my first time writing jaskier pls be nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24168094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohydrated/pseuds/sohydrated
Summary: This is based on "As Far as Feelings Go" by aekotara, Lambert is sick of the cat-and-mouse and decides to...nudge things along in his relationship with Jaskier.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 21
Kudos: 180





	How to Win the Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aekotara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aekotara/gifts).
  * Inspired by [As far as feelings go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23387827) by [Aekotara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aekotara/pseuds/Aekotara). 



> For Aekotara! Because they write fabulous slow-burn and gave these two a particularly delicious battle of wills, and I wanted to give them a bit of smut while they battle coursework. 
> 
> Link to their fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23387827

The bait was just too easy, Lambert thought, watching the bard scrub pots and pans in the kitchen basin without a care. He was whistling some tune, the witcher wasn't even certain the man could hear himself over the harsh noise of a rough bristled brush against an ancient cauldron. Still, he whistled away, apparently oblivious to the world around him.

_ Way _ too easy. 

Lambert crouched low at the knees, trying to stay out of the other man's peripheral, and began to sneak across the kitchen. The wood in the fire pit separating them from the main hall crackled in perfect time as he took some bigger steps. He could smell the contentedness coming from Jaskier; something like honeyed lemon peels, like he might put in tea if he cared for it. He had to suppress a predatory growl, he felt like an animal on a hunt, despite it being only across a room. 

Finally in striking distance, he lunges, bracing his hands on the counter space either side of the poet's hips. He holds his body close, covering the other man's but not touching. 

"Hi, little bird." He sneers in Jaskier's ear, so close to his lips he could just…

He barely stops the pan in time with his forearm before it would have cracked against his skull. He glares down at the bard still braced between him and the counter, who had spun around faster than he would have thought the man was capable.

"Darling, if you wanted to play house, all you had to do was ask." He chided in a sickly sweet voice. Cool blue eyes stared up at the witcher through thick lashes as Jaskier slowly lowered the pan back behind him, dropping it into the basin. 

Lambert smelled his scent change with surprise and irritation, but the bard gave little indication of either. He hadn't even jumped, and the speed with which he was able to turn and swing ths pan was impressive.  _ So the lark has been paying attention during his lessons,  _ he thought.  _ This will be fun _ .

He let his arm fall so it was resting against the counter again, and Jaskier let himself be trapped by the bigger man. 

"I don't think you'd do well playing house with me. We witchers aren't meant for that sort of thing. Too rough." From where he stood it took a lot of effort not to press his nose into the chestnut locks in front of him, smell the zestier note to the man's scent now. His anger smelled delicious, and Lambert's pupils dilated with the pleasure of it. 

He laughed. A tinkling bell of a noise with only a hint of sharpness. The bard turned toward his chores, giving his back to the witcher looming over him. 

"Lambert, dear, I think at this point you've shown me you're all talk." He picks up the brush again and begins cleaning. "Which I suppose is what many husbands are. That's why that countess in Aedirn was very suggestible when I-" 

He's cut off when a muscled arm shoots out, sliding under his right arm and barring across his chest, with a bruising grip on his left shoulder. 

Lambert was flush against him now, a thigh slipped between his and held more of his weight. His feet were still touching the ground but doing precious little to actually support him. The witcher's body felt so solid around him, and was giving off impossible heat. It sent a little thrill through him, but he would not let this man force him into the role of a helpless submissive. His fingers began tearing at the arm around his chest, while his foot was kicking at the knee of Lambert's supporting leg. 

"Let go of me you absolute cretin! I'm not in the mood for your games right now." He was wiggling in the witcher's grip not unlike a fish would as it tried to get back to the water. Of course, he wasn't going anywhere.

The movement kicked up more of his rich scent into the air, this time spiced with arousal. Lambert grinned wide, unable to school his reaction to a victory.  _ Control. _ That thrilling feeling of being able to crumble the bard's facade, to pull a reaction out of him. He himself had been turned on for quite a while, that's what had him seeking the lark out in the first place, though he had just been hoping for a good argument. Now he was quickly hardening in his trousers, feeling the other man thrash against him. 

His free hand slipped under the shirt Jaskier was wearing, which faintly smelled of Geralt. That only spurred him on more, the idea of claiming something before the older witcher could, being the one to take the action all of them wanted. He would have claimed the bard as his own long before coming to winter at the keep, he thought. He felt along the smaller man's taut stomach, all the soft body hair there that held his scent so well. 

Jaskier stilled, shocked by the intimate touch. Lambert's whole hand was splayed out over his abdomen, the rough calluses catching as he slid down to cup him through his light linen pants. They couldn't hide his swelling arousal, and his whole face flushed red. 

"Well well," Lambert purred in his ear, "looks like I'm not the one who's all talk. You seem plenty in the mood for my games right now, Buttercup." He gave a light squeeze over the bulge, and Jaskier gasped, his hands that had been tearing at the arm holding him in place were now just gripping, hanging on as the room seemed to tilt on its axis. 

"Put me down." He commanded with as much bravado as he could muster. He couldn't deny that having someone else touch him after so long felt electric, his lower half giving off jolts of pleasure from a simple touch. But Lambert was a sore winner and he did not want to give in to him so easily. 

"Why, when we're having such a good time?" He gave another squeeze, and delighted in the small noise that came from Jaskier's throat only half stifled. 

"I can smell you, you know. We all can. Can smell how turned on you are even when you say you can't stand me." He pressed his nose into the bard's soft hair, breathing deeply. The heady scent was so strong, and he could smell the musk of his own arousal in it. He wanted nothing more than to have the whole keep to smell of the two of them, for the others to know he finally claimed their guest. This time he did not suppress the growl that came low in his throat, he let it rumble out as he pulled the bard impossibly closer, pressing plump ass against his hardness. This time Jaskier could not stifle the thin moan that slipped from between his lips, reddened from biting them. 

Lambert huffed a laugh. "That's what I thought. Look at where you are, little lark. In a wolf den with big, strong witchers. We  _ all _ know exactly what type of man turns you on." He gave a roll of his hips, squeezing Jaskier again and feeling him fully hard. 

"Exactly what you'd want from us. But I can stop, and you can see if the others have balls enough to give you what you need." He loosened his arm just a little, enough for Jaskier to slide a few inches down the thigh between his legs. 

The bard's head craned to look at him, blue eyes blown wide and his whole face splotched red. He licked his lips, cat eyes following the movement hungrily. 

"Don't you fucking dare." Jaskier threatened, bucking into the witcher's hand while not breaking eye contact. The feral grin on Lambert's face would have sent chills through a lesser man, but instead made him leak in his smalls. 

The strong arm pulled him close again, and he felt teeth latch on to the shell of his ear, just a bit too hard to be playful. Lambert's hand slipped under the waistband of his pants, but still over his smalls. Even with a layer between them, the heat of his hand was intense as he pressed harder, thumb tracing the vein on the underside of his prick. He moaned and the witcher laughed, disgustingly pleased with himself.

"Feel good, little lark?" Jaskier swallowed and nodded, hips twitching. 

Lambert was warring with himself, he wanted to throw the man down and take him right then and there. He could, easily, the bard wanted it and no doubt would be a good lay. But something held him back, that need to control the situation, to crack him open even further until he was totally without control of himself. His lips curled further into almost a sneer. 

"If it feels so good, get after it. Show me." His voice was thick, breath rasping over Jaskier's cheek. He keened at the command and began rutting against his hand, panting. 

The witcher's eyes were practically black as he took in the scene. He could peer over the bard's shoulder, see his flushed face with eyes screwed shut. He saw those thin, nimble fingers grasping at his arm and down the line of his body to where his hips were jerking in short thrusts, trying to get as much friction from the press of a hand as possible. He looked positively needy, and if Lambert dropped him right now and walked away, he was sure the other would follow. Still, he could push this further…

He ground his hardness against the bard's ass, relishing the feeling despite the tightness of his trousers, and angled the leg supporting him just so.

" _ Ah, fuck _ ," Jaskier gasped, the leg putting pressure on his balls in the sweetest way. He was embarrassingly close, Lambert had been teasing him since he got to Kaer Mohren, and with his tensions so high his whole body shook with the need for release.

And Lambert could smell it, of course he could. The deep, rolling scent of arousal hitting him wave after wave. His teeth itched to latch on to the smaller man's shoulder, but he held back. He could win a round, or he could win the whole game if he managed to be patient. His jaw tensed from the effort. 

"That's it," he encouraged, voice lecherous as Jaskier's thrusts became more and more erratic. "keep going. I bet you could cum just like this, without me even doing anything, couldn't you?" 

Except he was doing  _ so much _ , Jaskier thought. The way his body was firm and unmoving, no matter how much he rocked. How his arm prevented him from taking too full a breath. How infuriatingly  _ calm _ he was even as the bard rubbed against his prick like an animal in heat. It was too good, and the bastard knew it. 

"Cum for me, Buttercup. Let me hear it." He could feel the reverb of the witcher's voice from where he was pressed into his chest, and feel his thumb stroke the underside of his sensitive head through the fabric.  _ Gods, too much, too much. _

He came with a cry, spilling into his smalls with not a shred of dignity as Lambert gripped him tight, stroking him through it until he made a pitiful noise from the oversensitivity. 

With something akin to a snarl, Lambert slid him down his leg and fully onto his feet again, though didn't remove his arm until the bard was steady. On shaky legs, Jaskier turned to look at the witcher, to say  _ something _ , but instead went slack-jawed as Lambert licked the mess from his fingers, squeezing is cock with his free hand. 

"Mmm, thanks for the distraction, Lark. See you." He winked, the cad, and sauntered out of the room. 

Lambert got exactly halfway through the main hall before he heard the bard huff and curse.

"If he  _ thinks  _ he's just leaving he's got another thing coming." The man whispered to himself, followed by the sound of footfall. 

Lambert grinned and continued toward his room as if he did not hear.  _ That, _ he thought,  _ means I've won this game.  _

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think! I'm more of a games and books fan myself, but this pairing is very fun to write :)


End file.
